


maybe you were need up there but we're still unaware as to why

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompted by Mew: would it be too much if i asked for a random one-shot of Narry? It could go with any plot, or anything really. It'll be great it was quite angsty, like heartbreak with a bittersweet ending. I don't know if you mpreg, but if yes, could you corporate some into it? </p><p>or: Harry’s never believed in true love, but now he’s not quite so sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe you were need up there but we're still unaware as to why

**Author's Note:**

> a/n - here it finally is Mew, and wow, it’s turned out to be 5,000+ words. Okay, I just sort of run with the idea, so I’m not so sure if it’s really that angsty, but I tried, and I think it sort of is. And well, most of it’s actually build, but I don’t know, I hope you like it.
> 
> Also, the title is taken from Small Bump - Ed Sheeran, because well, I felt like that line means a lot to the fic. And I’d just like to mention that this contains the first piece of smut I have written. It’s probably terrible, and I’m really sorry about that. Enjoy lovelies, and if you give me feedback I will bake you cookies or brownies. xx

**

Harry doesn’t believe in true love. Never really has.

 

There are over seven billion people on this earth, how is it possible that only one of them is perfect for you? How are you supposed to find them? And how do you ever know when it’s ‘the one’, because he’s sure as hell been in love before, and it all sort of felt the same.

 

He’s even looked into it, casually, and honestly it’s all fairy tale and belief systems crap. It’s like believing in the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, or the Tooth Fairy and whatever other mythical creatures anyone may believe in. There’s no such thing as true love, and Harry would firmly stand by that assumption.

 

But, he could tell you all about love, that’s for certain.

 

Love was a mother’s kiss and hot chocolate in front of the fireplace, it was holding hands and hugging tightly. There was love in each smile, and in the way brothers tackled each other during football scratch matches. Love was in tearful goodbyes, singing amongst friends and baking cupcakes.

 

It was a tiny burning, a bubbling in your stomach, it was fireworks, and lazy mornings, and an aching, a powerful longing. It’s also bright, as dazzling as the sun, as intense as the crackling of a fire, and it’s as sunny, as cheerful as Niall.

 

Harry doesn’t believe in true love, but he thinks that some things are  _meant_ to be.

 

 

 

**

The toilet bowl is cold, freezing cold, as Harry’s fingers latch onto it, gripping tight and his body shakes, heaving as he loses his breakfast. Retching, he tries to push his curls out of his eyes, but that doesn’t work and as he heaves one last time, he’s sure some of the bile gets caught in his hair.

 

It’s disgusting, laying on the bathroom floor, probably with vomit in his hair and shivering because it’s so damn cold, but he doesn’t know what else to do. Something’s happening to him, and he’s so fucking scared, because nothing matches his symptoms.

 

Well, nothing that should happen to a normal male’s body.

 

And that’s why he’s so scared, because if the internet is actually reliable (and Harry’s not stupid, he looked this stuff up on medical websites, not  _Wikipedia_ ) then he’s probably throwing up his food because of morning sickness and that means he’s pregnant. But that’s not  _possible_  because he’s a guy, he’s got a penis and no ovaries.

 

Besides, who the fuck is he supposed to talk to? It’s not like he could really say anything to anyone, because who’d believe him? Who’d look at him seriously after blurting out that he thinks he’s pregnant and actually be sane enough to come with some sort of rational answer? Liam wouldn’t even be able to swallow it.

 

Sniffling, Harry finds his phone and dials in his mum’s number.

 

 

**

Niall’s kind of everything that reminds Harry of love. He’s warm, and he gives the best hugs in the world. He’s cheerful and playful, a grin on his lips, and his angelic voice often soars through the silence to entertain and amuse Harry. Sometimes they cook together, and although it’s probably the stupidest idea they’ve both had in a while, it’s fun and Niall chuckles as he steals the batter. And it started out as a joke, but now a peck on the forehead is acceptable as a wave as a hello.

 

And Harry’s always thought of his sexuality as fluid, perhaps that’s why he doesn’t believe in true love, so nothing’s really surprising when he’s sort of falling for his very own epitome of love.

 

He kind of babies Niall a bit, but he swears black and blue that it’s not really favouritism, it’s not. The other lads don’t seem to mind, like this has been a long time coming, and if it wasn’t for the fact that not believing in true love makes you wear your heart on your sleeve, they’d probably tease him a bit.

 

Niall acts blissfully ignorant, but Harry’s not sure if that’s an act or not, because it’s not actually that easy to read the Irishman’s mind. And he doesn’t for one second believe that innocent act, so why should he really believe the ignorant one? It’s not like the boy’s exactly the most truthful person out there. And, well, he’s getting free food out of it, so there’s no way he’d ever tell Harry to stop.

 

But, Harry’s not stupid. There’s a sort of favouritism going on the other way too.

 

And when Niall crawls into Harry’s bed one lazy morning, cuddling into the boy and burying his head into Harry’s neck, Harry just embraces it. He pulls the boy closer, planting a sloppy kiss on the blonde’s forehead. He barely hears the mumbled “I think I love you Harry,” and just nods, like it was normal, replying calmly.

 

“I love you too, Nialler.”

 

 

**

As the information just delved by his mother sinks in, Harry can feel his stomach churning again; how the fuck had he never known this before? And, you know, why hadn’t anyone ever told him before? It kind of was something really _important_.

 

“Oh, but Harry, love,” His mother’s voice sounds so very cheery, “you’ve been always been interested in _girls_ , not ever boys. Besides, if you were with anyone I would have it would have been Lou, and honestly, you would have topped, right?”

 

The casual way she had chatted and mentioned how she had thought he’d top makes Harry feel a little emasculated. It’s a little stupid, because there’s a  _fucking baby_ growing inside him and that’s not at all manly. He’s also struggling with the whole concept that his  _entire_ family forgot to mention that the males have some freakish genetic mutation and they can get  _pregnant._

 

And, oh, god, he’s pregnant with Niall’s baby.

 

“But do you know what that all means?” And honestly, Harry shakes his head, even though his mother can’t see that through the phone. “I’m going to be a grandmother! That’s so exciting! Wait, do you know if it’s going to be a girl or a boy? Shall I colour coordinate or like, just buy whatever? Oh, and…”

 

Harry lets the phone fall from his grasp, clunking loudly down on the bathroom floor. How would he know? He’s not even over the idea that he can get pregnant, let alone the thought that he is, and why is she so calm over this?

 

Sniffling, Harry curls his arms against the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl, gripping onto the edge and making a nest to bury his head in. His breath rattles deep in his chest, blowing out against his arms as he buries his head. Harry chokes, caught between trying to laugh this off awkwardly and crying because his head is spinning and _what the actual fuck is going on?_  The latter wins out, and the tears run hot down his cheeks.

 

 

**

The first few weeks of ‘trying this thing out’ with Niall goes by in a blur. Harry feels giggly, and a little too happy like someone’s going to come along and upset it all. But no one does, and every time he glances over at his blonde kind-of-boyfriend, something warm and perfect swells up inside him. He doesn’t believe in true love, but if he did, this is kind of what it would feel like. They seem to know what each other is thinking, they seem to work together as one, understanding each other.

 

Maybe it’s because of the years of friendship they have, or it’s come deeper connection, Harry’s not sure, but he doesn’t want this to ever end. This love, it’s something different to what he’s felt before. It’s effortless, it’s seamless and sometimes the excessive bliss leaves Harry a little incoherent. That makes him laugh, because he’s just stuck in the honeymoon stage, and he knows it, but he’s not sure he’d ever want to leave it.

 

Harry feels like this is the closest thing to perfect as he’s ever going to get. It’s a wonderful feeling, but it leaves him a little sick. How’s he supposed to live without all this if Niall decides this isn’t what he wants?

 

 

**

Harry doesn’t mean to tell Zayn. It just comes out because fuck the slick bastard, Harry’s not hung over, he’s not even fucking touching alcohol thank you very much, that’ll hurt the baby. And then Zayn’s staring at him, blinking.

 

“That’ll hurt the baby?” He asks, a little stupidly and Harry stares at up at him like a deer stuck in the headlights. Fuck, fuck, fuck, no one was supposed to know. Shit, fuck. And then Zayn has to go and say, “You’re pregnant?”

 

Harry wants to throws something, because the guy must be an idiot. He’s pretty much just blurted it out, mentioned he hasn’t touched any alcohol in the past month and is on his hands and knees, casually suffering through morning sickness. What the fuck does it look like? Zayn coughs, and Harry rolls his eyes, nodding.

 

“How is that even possible?” Zayn looks confused, pointing at Harry’s neither regions and Harry doesn’t even know how it all works so he can’t explain other than there’s definitely a fucking baby growing inside him.

“I still have a dick, Zayn.” He says calmly, “And yes, I’m pregnant.” He manages before the queasiness is taking over, and there goes last night’s dinner.

 

Surprisingly, Zayn just bends down beside Harry, pulling his curls out of the way as he retches and rubs Harry’s back soothingly. When the morning sickness subsides, he helps to get Harry cleaned up, taking extra good care of the boy. Harry just slides thankfully into the movement of warm arms and comforting words, feeling less alone about this whole situation now, and thank fucking god, he’s got someone else to lean on. ar

 

 

Besides, he’s going to need a birth partner and it looks like Zayn’s got the job.

 

 

**

Kissing Niall is exhilarating.

 

It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, your stomach’s a little queasy because it’s fucking long way down, but it almost feels like you’re flying as the wind rushes up to meet you. It’s a moment you never want to leave, because it’s perfect, exciting, thrilling, spine-tingling. There’s a sad moment of realisation that you have to stop, you need to breathe, and that’s the only part of it all that Harry hates. Until Niall’s pink lips are closing back in on Harry’s and it’s like he’s stepped onto a rollercoaster, stomach left long behind.

 

Sometimes, it’s just comforting. Niall likes to cuddle; he curls up into Harry’s arms, head on Harry’s chest, warm breath tickling Harry’s chin. It doesn’t take long for the cuddles to turn into slow, sweet kisses. Firstly, they start on Harry’s throat, tiny open mouthed things that make Harry shiver and they trace up until Niall’s velvet mouth is caressing Harry’s.

 

Lost in the moment, tongues slide over moist lips and they slowly dance, twisting, exploring. Harry’s sure he’s mapped out Niall’s entire mouth, gently prodded at the metal of the boy’s braces and nibbled the entirety of Niall’s bottom lip. He loves the little noises that Niall makes, the tiny sighs and the minute moans and laps them up, swallowing them like he doesn’t want to share.

 

It’s during a kiss, a long, lazy one that has Harry’s head spinning, when Niall whispers to him. “Harry,” his name is breathless between the presses of lips, and the way the accent dances around his names makes Harry all hot and bothered. “Harry.” This time Harry steals his name off of Niall’s lips, making the blonde idiot giggle and gently push him away.

 

“Seriously, Haz,” Niall smiles, the grin proving he really wasn’t annoyed, “Steal my words whilst I’m trying to say something important, why don’t you?”

“Okay,” Harry replies cheekily, reaching out to pull Niall back down to him, back down for more breathless kisses and butterflies in stomachs.

 

“I want to be official.” Niall blurts out, blue eyes wide, and Harry stops, confused. “I don’t want to just ‘try this out’ anymore Haz, I want to really be your boyfriend, and for you to be mine, if you’re okay with that?” Harry wants to tug the boy down furiously and show him just how much he’d so okay with that, but instead Harry just reaches up, pressing a kiss to Niall’s pretty pink lips.

 

“I’d like that. A lot.” 

**

Zayn’s been bullying Harry about going to a doctor for a week when Louis finds out. It’s another slip of the tongue and Harry’s in a shitty mood again, but this time because he’s craving Belgian mud cake and no one will go fucking buy him any. Niall smiles apologetically, kissing him sweetly, but he’s got to babysit or something.

 

There’s a quiet moment in the apartment where Liam awkwardly excuses himself from the house, saying something about a date with Danielle. They all know what he’s really doing to do with Danielle, and Louis makes some smart arse comment about condoms and snacks.

 

It makes Harry remember his predicament and he swears to god that his stomach lurches just at the thought. Harry groans loudly, unsure of the way he thinks he needs to heave or just oh my, he’s kind of forgotten about the whole male and pregnant thing and please just let this all be a dream. But it’s not, and Zayn fusses, asking if Harry’s okay, checking his temperature, making sure he doesn’t need to throw up.

 

“What’s wrong with Harry?” Louis suddenly asks, and the other two jump, for some reason momentarily forgetting that the other boy is in the room.

“It’s nothing.” Zayn says quickly, but from the way he’d been fussing like a mother hen it doesn’t make that sentence very reliable. Louis raises an eyebrow.

 

“Oh, fucking hell, I’m fine.” Harry’s close to yelling, and he can feel the tears starting to sting his eyes, because he’s everything but fine. “There’s just a fucking baby growing inside me and being pregnant sucks.” He bursts out.

 

Louis stares.

 

“What?” He asks, like Harry’s having him on, but why the fuck would Harry joke about being pregnant, unless, of course he really was.

“I, Harold Edward Styles, am pregnant. There’s a tiny, little leprechaun baby growing inside of me thanks to some genetic mutation in my family line.” Harry snaps, “And I don’t need to go to a stupid hospital because they won’t fucking believe me either or think I’m some sort of freak.”

 

“Harry.” Louis says demandingly, coming over to feel Harry’s forehead himself, “You really should go to the doctors, just to make sure the baby’s healthy.” 

 

 

 

 

 

**

Surprisingly, Niall’s the first one to really say  _I love you_ without the friendly tone. It stuns Harry, because he’s known for a long, long time how he feels, so shouldn’t he really have been the one to say it first?

 

But, it’s kind of perfect, with Niall fearlessly holding his hand as they walk up an unnamed jetty. The sea’s a beautiful place, even as it pounds against the shore, waves spraying over the edges and Harry can taste the salt in the air. Niall’s looking up at him, the soft reds and oranges of the sunset splayed across his blonde locks and Harry’s got his warm, fond feeling filling him up.

 

“Harry, I love you.” Niall whispers, and the words are barely heard before they’re whipped away by the strong wind. Harry’s not sure if he’s heard right, so he pulls a confused face.

“I didn’t hear you.” He explains, rubbing his finger along the back of Niall’s hand comfortingly. Niall smiles, tugging on Harry’s hand and motions for Harry to lean down.

 

Harry does so, he does everything that Niall wants, and Niall snuggly fits his mouth close to Harry’s ear. “I love you.” He whispers, a giggle behind the words because Harry’s curls are ticklish.

“I love you too.” Harry says, simply, because these feelings need no explanation, none at all and it’s okay, because Harry can see in Niall’s eyes that he understands too.

 

 

**

When Liam finds out, it’s not really purposefully either, but Harry’s kind of showing and he spots it one day when Harry wears a little too tight shirt. He pokes the slight curve of Harry’s stomach, saying something teasing about how Harry’s puppy fat is sneaking back and you just don’t say things like that to Harry. He’s already conscious about his size, although he’s barely even showing, but the whole ‘I look like a whale’ image is popping into his head.

 

Harry snaps.

 

And besides, his baby bump is beautiful.

 

Words go flying, Harry’s mouth fowl and rude. Liam stands there in shock, looking a little traumatised. Zayn nearly laughs when he spots it, because honestly, it’s funny, and Louis actually laughs, just the look on poor, unsuspecting Liam’s face. The only thing that calms Harry down is the gentle pressure of Niall’s hand on his arm, and a rough tug until they’re disappearing into the storage cupboard.

 

And when Harry comes out of there, hair all mussed up and lips red from the reckless abuse that Niall’s kisses can sometimes be, with a very sexy Niall in tow, he sees the understanding in Liam’s eyes and oh fuck, he knows. Harry wants to scream or shout or something, but he’s got to keep it still on the down low, and he can get angry at the others later, Niall’s pulling at his hand to go home.

 

It’s a couple of days later when Niall disappears on family business that they remaining four can sit down and talk. Harry’s been dreading this, but the agonizingly sympathetic looks Liam’s been shooting him have just been  _painful_.

 

“So, Zayn and Lou said you’re pregnant.” Liam manages, and Harry rolls his eyes because he’s sick of this question. “Are you pregnant?”

“What do you think Daddy Direction?” Harry drawls sarcastically, “Does the baby bump not mean anything to you, or am I just getting more puppy fat?”

 

“Look, I’m sorry about that –”

“Fuck you.” Harry snaps, cutting Liam short. “And yes, I am pregnant. Don’t ask me how, because I don’t understand, but it’s some sort of family thing that everyone conveniently forgot to tell me about.”

 

“Oh.” Liam says apologetically, “But, if you ever need a break once you’ve had the baby Uncle Liam and Auntie Danielle would love to look after it for you.”

 

 

**

Niall’s fingertips are calloused, it’s a buy-product of all that guitar playing, and Harry’s not so sure about it at first. But, as they dig into his hipbones, tiny pinpoints of rough skin against his, gripping tightly and rubbing slowly Harry’s changed his mind. It’s like they’re the anchors, holding him down to reality as Niall rocks gently into him, waves of pleasure shuddering up his spine.

 

The pace is not fast or rushed, but Niall’s breaths are coming out in little pants, back arched and sweat gleaming against his pale skin, making him glow in the soft moonlight filtering in from the window. Harry’s not sure he’s breathing, at all, but the only light-headedness he’s feeling is from the way Niall’s changed the angle of his thrusts, and  _fuck,_ Harry’s hands scrabble around for a grasp on something. He’s almost thrashing around, toes curling, back arching and there’s so much raw pleasure Harry’s not sure it’s physically possible to feel this good.

 

It builds up, slowly, coiling inside the pit of his stomach, and as Harry’s lost it to the blinding desire, something flashing through him like lightning, and Niall guides him through with softer, but erratic thrusts. Then Niall’s tumbling over the edge too, whispering Harry’s name like a prayer, over and over. “ _Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry…”_

 

Once Niall pulls out, they lay together, twined in a sort of dizzying bliss and Harry’s not sure he’s ever quite been loved so much. He can feel it – Niall’s tenderness, his overwhelming love – buzzing through his skin, soaking into his pores. It’s all a little too much, and he’s not sure exactly how to show Niall back that he loves the blonde boy just as much, but Niall smiles. There’s understanding and a tad of something  else swirling around in those depths, and their lips caress, moulding gently together.

 

 

**

Harry finds it astounding that everyone is taking this whole pregnant thing so  _well_. He’s not sure, but all three boys took it better than he had, combined. It’s nice, and it’s comforting, but Harry wishes someone else would just freak out or something, so he didn’t have to do it all by himself.

 

And then, there’s the guilt that’s eating him up. Niall’s the only one out of the five that doesn’t know, and Niall’s the father, or the other father, or something, because Harry’s not sure how this whole thing works out. He feels like he should tell Niall, his boyfriend needs to know, but he’s scared. This whole thing, it’s stupid and freakish and weird. He doesn’t want Niall to hate him, and he certainly doesn’t want Niall to be disgusted.

 

He’s really scared and, even with the rest of the boys helping out, he feels so alone.

 

 

**

Niall finds out though, just like everyone else. It’s an accident, Louis says something stupid and then Niall’s sitting up, looking over at him apprehensively. Harry blatantly glares at Louis, glad Niall can’t see the face he’s making and Louis looks incredibly apologetic.

 

Zayn’s frozen, unsure what to do, and offers Niall some more pizza, which would, under any normal circumstances distract him, does little more than make Niall turn up his nose. Louis is almost blushing under Niall’s gaze. There’s a few more moments of awkward silence, until Liam tries to break it with a laugh, and a random question about Eleanor. Louis takes the escape gratefully, but Niall lets out a dry laugh.

 

Slowly, but surely, Niall turns, looking at Harry curiously. There’s so much love in the boy’s eyes that Harry wants to ravage him and leans forward to at least steal a kiss, but Niall’s hand curves gently against the slight Harry’s slight baby bump. Niall lets his fingers trace along the swell of Harry’s stomach, arching over it, and then his face drops and he snatches his hand away.

 

“Niall?” Harry asks cautiously, and his heart drops as he sees the expressionless face Niall is pulling.

“No.” Niall replies, and suddenly emotions are coursing through his features, shuddering through him, and it settles on something close to horror. “God, no. Harry tell me you’re not pre–” But Niall trails off, he can’t say the word.

 

“Pregnant?” Harry asks tiredly, and he feels like he’s close to crying because Niall  _is_  disgusted, and now he want nothing to do with Harry and Harry may just die without Niall. “Yeah, there’s some genetic mutation in my family, and I’m pregnant. The baby’s yours.”

 

“Fuck.” Is all Niall manages, and then that look of horror is coursing over his beautiful face. “No, no, no, Harry, no, fuck no, no.” Harry wants to agree, wants to pretend there’s no baby and no pregnancy, and maybe Niall wouldn’t be looking at him like that, and he wants to laugh and pretend it’s all a joke. But it’s not a joke, and he’s still pregnant, and he’s so tired of pretending he’s all okay with this.

 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers like he wants to undo it all, because Harry would if he could, he doesn’t want this, he just wants Niall back. But, Niall’s already gone, out the door, car keys in hand and the front door is swinging back open because Niall was in such a rush to shut it properly.

 

Harry stares at where his boyfriend was sitting a few minutes ago, and then breaks out into a large sob because, fuck, he probably doesn’t have a boyfriend anymore, just a baby that shouldn’t be physically possible.

 

 

**

Niall looks tired as he slips back into their room, changing out of his rumpled clothes into his pyjamas. Harry watches closely, glad that he didn’t shut the curtain properly and so that he could see. He hadn’t wanted to sleep in the bed, because it was Niall’s bed too, but Zayn had ordered him, for the baby’s sake, that he slept somewhere other than the couch.

 

“Harry?” Niall asks, but Harry doesn’t reply, he doesn’t know what to say, and somehow ‘I didn’t know it was possible for the males in my family were able to get pregnant, perhaps I should have topped?’ doesn’t really seem to cut it. Niall moves off, out the bathroom, and Harry closes his eyes, listening intently to the familiar sounds of Niall moving around. It’s nice, and for a second Harry deludes himself into thinking that this was all a terrible dream until he rolls over, and his stomach bumps against the bed, ruining the illusion.

 

Niall’s footsteps trail back into their room, and Harry feels the bed shift as the Irishman sits down upon it. Niall’s fingers are soft, and they make the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up as they brush over the skin. “I’m sorry, Haz.” He whispers, “I’m really sorry, but I just can’t deal with this now, okay.”

 

It’s really hard for Harry not to reply, and he even goes as far to open his mouth. Thankfully, he’s facing away, so Niall doesn’t see and just continues, “I love you, I’m so in love with you Harold Edward Styles that sometimes it kind of hurts, like now, and you can’t be pregnant, okay.” Niall stops, like he’s sniffling, and swallows, “I can’t be here, not anymore. I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want you to worry, but I’m sick. I’m really sick, and they don’t think I’m going to survive very long. You can’t be pregnant because I can’t be there to help you out, and I can’t be there to watch our baby grow up.”

 

Harry nearly constricts himself up in tears, because the thought of losing Niall hurts so much he can feel his stomach churning and, fuck, he really hates this all. Some part of him rationalises that it’s better than Niall being disgusted, but it’s not, it’s really not. Because having Niall alive and hating him is so much better than not having Niall at all.

 

Niall warm figure wraps around Harry’s, snuggling close against Harry form and Niall’s finger tips trace along the contours of Harry’s belly. “Is it going to be a girl, or a boy?” Niall wonders aloud, breath against Harry’s neck. “I always wanted a baby girl, wanted to spoil one, you know? I wanted a few kids, but I guess that’s not going to happen now, but it makes me so happy that we’re having a baby Haz. You’re going to be amazing dad, I know you will be. I just wish I could be around to help you out.” Harry wishes that too, so desperately, but he stays quiet and enjoys Niall’s presence.

 

When Harry wakes up in the morning Niall’s gone, and there’s a sense of finality about it. It doesn’t take long to find the letters from the hospital and something about an induced coma that might help. Harry sits himself down and cries until someone comes and finds him.

 

 

**

He isn’t told, not until afterwards, that Niall’s gone. That’s the word they use,  _gone,_  softening everything and Harry throws a bouquet of flowers at Liam, who looks so sincere. “Fuck you, fuck everything, I hate you all, stupid motherfucking cunts, go die in a hole,” Harry screams at them, screams until his voice is hoarse, and there’s no more insults to really throw. The sobs start to overtake him, rattling his body and Louis tries to get closer, within throwing range. He’s promptly hit in the head by a pencil, but as Zayn tries Harry’s too weak and the notepad goes flying off to the left.

 

The boys rush in, arms entangling around Harry and “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” echoes lightly around the room, strangling into a string of “no, no, no, no, no” as it all sinks in. No one exactly tells when Niall’s  _gone_ , but from the sounds of it he held on, held on until Harry’s coming round, a little loopy on the pain killers. They had to deliver the baby as a C-section, there was no way else for it come out. To Harry it really does feel like he was sliced cruelly open,  the incisions on his stomach hurt like a bitch, and he wants to curse all the surgeons because they fucking left his broken heart in there.

 

Once Harry’s calmed down a little, still aching and feeling like it’d be totally worth it to throw himself off a cliff or something, the baby is brought in. Harry’s not sure he wants to see it but he can’t just dump it; he has to call it an _it_ , purely because the gender is unknown and that’s wrong, it’s a human being, a baby not an  _it_. And honestly, there’s a little part of him that blossoms with hope because it’s bound to be a perfect baby. It’s got Niall’s genetics. So Harry’s going to look after it, no matter how hard everything gets. Niall wanted a baby.

 

Harry lets out a startled little sob when he gets told it’s a girl, and promises fervently to spoil her rotten, just for Niall. Feeling all gushy, Harry takes the wrapped up and clean baby in his arms. She small, and a little chubby, but a perfect little bundle of joy, or whatever the cliché was. Then her eyelids flutter open and two bright _blue_  eyes stare up at Harry.

 

 

Harry’s never believed in true love, but now he’s not quite so sure.


End file.
